“You have the right to remain silent”
I nodded my head; at least I think I did…I was pretty sure I was 3-squared sheets to the wind.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
I had a pending court date for a speeding ticket…for going five miles over the speed limit out in the middle of nowhere.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
Yeah…in twenty days or so…
“Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
“Sure, why not?” I replied.

Ça Plane Pour Moi

Let’s rewind the clock about thirteen hours because…it’s such a lucky number. It’s my number when the bakery is down to the last dozen and if I was in a movie about a summer camp. I’m sitting at my desk, it’s fifteen minutes into the workday and I have spent about ten of those getting coffee and answering most of my e-mails by dumping them into the trash as I no longer handle that client.
My boss, we’ll call him Mr. Glasshole for pleasantries, walks up to my cube and taps his foot to the beat of an imaginary drum. Mr. Glasshole and I never saw eye to eye, It was like two blindfolded bastards trying to have a pissing match…and one’s wearing shorts.
“Billie, could you come with me to HR?”
Usually, when one hears this request, it is because one is involved in a Human Resources case or because one IS a Human Resources case. I was both as Mr. Glasshole hated everything about me but it kept it just below the HR radar that any complaint I brought up could be justified.
Mr. G hates my hair—“it’s too long for a man according the dress code.”
Sick due to illness—“you need to request time off.”
Mr. G states I’m violating standards by wearing a dress—“we have no comment at this time.”
And at the time I was indeed wearing a long skirt with stripes. The blouse may have been a bit loud but it wasn’t screaming “look at me!” Unlike Mr. G’s favorite office pet…but I’m not going to attack her right now.
No, at that moment, all of my venom and vinegar would be at Mr. G and Mr. “rhymes with Tucker” as we sat in the HR office.
Now, try to visualize the scene: If anyone who had never stepped their pinky toe into our office before that day would have opened the door they would have seen two large, brutish, ogre, non-historic-Viking, could-be 80’s ‘rasslers in another lifetime and a small frame woman.
And yeah, I’d say that would violate so many workday policies in any other kind of office. Ours should be like that kind office, but an intelligent HR rep was nary to be seen.
“Billie, we’ve called you in.”
“To fire me.”
“No, to discuss your insubordination.”
“Same thing.”

The three of us glanced back and forth for a few seconds. I then took a deep and just looked at the space between them.
“On March 22nd, you came into the office wearing what was said as a ‘spaghetti strap dress’”
“I would say more cumian than spaghetti.”
“You were warned to not wear that again but did it again on Friday.”
“No, on Friday of that week, I was out of the office, on my day off. Are you sure you’re not thinking about Sarah?”
“Sarah?” The HR Rep asked.
“Oh, her stuff is linguini compared to mine. Some people would just love to cover in a clam sauce, eh?”
The HR rep and myself looked to Mr. Glasshole who was now three shades of a deep red.
“Oh, but you’ve seen what’s under under the tortellini shell,” I turned to the HR rep. “He’s had a bit of the all you can eat salad, if you follow me.”
“Now wait just a min-!” Mr Glasshole stood up and then stumbled back a bit. His face turned pale and he collapsed, with his head hitting the table before he tumbled to the floor like a rag doll.
I jumped over the table, assessed the situation.
“Call 911!” I yelled as I leaned over. “James! James, can you hear me?”
His eyes widened and then winced.
“I am going to try and help you.”
“No!” He wheezed.
“Tough!”